


Dress Up

by Agent_Pumpkin01



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: Aprons, Bondage, College AU, Dress Up, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Sex, Highschool AU, Kinky, M/M, NSFW, Police Uniforms, Ribbons, Sex, Sexual Tension, Uniform Kink, badboy x nerd, gay relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 11:05:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7530208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_Pumpkin01/pseuds/Agent_Pumpkin01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes 'dress up' means 'wear minimal'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Indulge Me

**Author's Note:**

> The badboy/nerd trope is in full swing in this 'series' of disjointed fanfics. Written on the basis of prompts given to me on Tumblr/things I think of because I deserve to be put down.

“You playing dress-up for me?”

The eye roll from Gatto is expected, but Sal snickers at his own joke anyway. He’d heard vaguely about Joe’s cooking abilities, watched him on occasion whenever the other boy had let him into his dorm room, but he finds himself losing concentration to the sake of the damn apron he wears when he does it. It’s nothing special, simple and white and reaching his knees, hollow at the back save for the ties that keep it flat over his front, but it accentuates the young man’s lean figure perfectly, has him wanting to reach his hands out and smooth them down his body.

“I’m making for both of us, y’know. If you want to eat, shut your yap,” grumbles Joe, shifting busily in the kitchen area of his room. It’s small, tight, leaves little room for Vulcano to stand around unless he presses in close and watches from over his shoulder. The last time he’d tried to do just that, he’d gotten a wooden spoon to the cheek until he’d retreated. Right on cue: “Must you hover?”

Sal smiles. Despite this young man’s less than welcoming attitude, he’s been lured in. The badboy hasn’t slept with anybody else since meeting him, despite the numerous flirtatious offers via text; he’d recently hung up on a girl touching herself the second Joe had phoned, mood instantly elevated as he’d heard that grumpy baritone on the other end of the line saying something about notes and such that he’d left behind one night. Something so useless, something that, if it would’ve interrupted him a couple of months ago, he’d have been livid– but honestly? Nobody gets him like Joe does.

“You know I like watching you…” he says simply, shuffling in closer, a hand reaching up to play with the loose ribbon Joe had haphazardly tied behind his back. The thought of him standing in this thing alone has the badboy shivering somewhat, pressing in closer until he’s certain his breath fans against the back of Gatto’s neck. The academic stiffens, tries to shift away, but Sal’s hand tightens around the ties and holds him in place. “Stay.”

“What am I, your dog?” Joe grunts.

“My bitch,” Sal replies, smirk growing.

“Wonderful,” mumbles Joe curtly, sarcasm lacing his tone like cyanide. “Release me.”

With a chuckled ‘all right’, Sal lets go of the ties and moves to lean against the cupboard beneath the sink, hands wrapping around the counter as he watches the boy of his interest work. It appears he’s making some kind of noodles, scent of the sauce filling the entire dorm room with its mouth-watering aroma. Sal definitely can’t wait to eat, but his hunger shifts focus as he watches the boy turn his back to him, arranging bowls he can put the noodles into when they’re done. Eyes rake down his body, settling unabashedly on his rear. He wants nothing more than to squeeze him just right, really make him yelp beneath his fingers… to feel the cold demeanour of the other folding in on itself? Now that’s something he could easily get off to.

Eventually, Joe serves up two bowls of food, passes one somewhat begrudgingly to the other before making his way heftily to the couch, sitting down heavily on it. The apron remains around his waist, riding up his body as he leans back and wraps noodles around his fork before chewing slowly. There’s always a thoughtful look on the student’s face, as if he’s constantly pondering something. Maybe he is. Sal wouldn’t know.

“Y’know,” Sal speaks up half way through their food. “You look good in that.”

There’s a silence that isn’t filled until Joe finishes his meal, bowl set in front of the couch. “You think so, huh?”

Sal follows suit, sets his empty bowl in front of the opposite end of the couch and turns his body to face the other. Surprisingly, Joe looks attentive, already facing him before he’d cared to adjust. This has him raising an eyebrow slowly, though he doesn’t push his luck by mentioning it.

“Yeah. Really brings attention to your body.”

He sighs. “Like you need any help with that, you pervert.”

Sal has learnt to laugh at the insult; mocking a means of defence tends to tear it down. He watches as Joe sidles across the couch slightly, settling closer to him. This is unheard of as far as the academic is concerned. Hell, he can never wait to get away from him. The male straightens, sticks legs out on the couch, as if expecting Joe to continue until his body falls into his lap. It doesn’t happen, but he’s close.

“You like dress up, Salvatore?”

An incredulous laugh is drawn from him, eyes purposefully sweeping down Joe’s body before he lets their eyes meet again. This is perhaps the furthest he’s gotten; he can feel the fan of the flame that has never quite been dormant around this young man, longs desperately to feel the other’s hands on him before the night is done. “I’d like you dressed up.”

Piercing blue eyes meet his seriously. “What would you and your vomit-inducing fantasies have me in?”

Vulcano laughs, boisterously at that. Anybody else and he probably would have found their edge irritating, but Joe’s sense of harshness only has him focused on him more, painfully so, until nothing else around him matters. He’s never felt like this before. Hands are between his spread legs now, Gatto leaning forwards on his hands and knees as he regards him with that same maddeningly calculating expression he’d met him wearing. Sal swallows thickly.

“Man, I don’t–

“You do,” Joe interrupts, and the first time in a hell of a long time, Sal becomes nervous. He’d become so good at concealing his true emotions in spite of feeling them, instead composing himself of sarcastic smiles and half-hearted laughter. Joe leans in close, so much so that he feels himself leaning back against the couch, head tipped back to look at him properly. The dorm’s lighting isn’t flattering to either of their complexions, but the shadow Gatto casts over him is more than enough to make up for it.

“I… I would like it if you wore just your apron for me…” The words don’t come out half as breezy, half as solid, as he wants them to, but they have Joe piquing a brow regardless. It isn’t the most surprising thing he’s heard - and he’s aware it’s most likely not the most surprising thing Sal has admitted either.

“For you,” Joe echoes, tone wavering towards the end. Not quite a question, not quite a statement, and it has Sal swallowing hard as he wills himself to remain straight-faced. “…not in general?”

“For me,” he repeats, firmer this time. Possessively. Gaze shifts down to look at Joe’s hands splayed against the couch. They’re so close to his crotch that if he made one “wrong” move he could very well have his fingers brush him where he needs him most… but he refrains, knows how Joe would react. No, it’s better to at least appear as if he has enough restraint to be on his way if he doesn’t cooperate with him, even though Sal knows full well that he couldn’t walk away now that he’s in so deep. “Just for me, baby boy.”

Joe’s gaze sharpens into a glare. He HATES that nickname with such passion it fuels him like petrol does flame. Quietly: “…would that turn you on?”

Vulcano nods. He has to wonder what’s coming of this discussion because he knows full well that Gatto won’t relent simply because he wants him to. The leading ‘what else?’ has the badboy squirming in his seat, heartbeat hammering. He’s not one to be this nervous, especially not around his selected choices, but the rate at which those beautiful eyes bore into his soul has his palms clammy. How does this young man affect him so…?

“…I–I’d like you in ribbon.”

The admittance has Joe’s eyebrows raising high but he doesn’t blush, doesn’t weaken, doesn’t say a word. Sal had been so sure such bluntness would put him off, make him back away… but he only seems to lean in closer, head tilting briefly. God, if he leaned up, kissed him… it’d be deep, tasteful. He craves it.

“Ribbon?” the boy inquires, voice thick.

“Mm. Red ribbon. Th–That bein’ the only thing you’d be ‘wearing’, of course.”

“Red ribbon. So you have thought about it. And I thought you were bluffing.”

The boys lock eyes. Sal feels the choking urge to kiss him; Joe feels the choking urge to let him. There’s something particularly attractive about the way the boy leans in closer still, until his lips rest beside his ear. Vulcano barely keeps it together, a hand moving to Gatto’s shoulder to hold him still. He doesn’t want him to move away, needs him this close, and now that his body has had a taste of his temperature it can’t bear to part with it. Joe Gatto, misanthropic bastard, makes him passionate.

“Got anything else for me…?” he asks quietly, voice caressing the sensitive shell of the other’s ear. Letting his eyes slip closed, teeth slide delicately over his lower lip before Sal dares continue on. This is getting too close for comfort, and suddenly his brashness isn’t enough to cover the cost of attempting to toy with Gatto’s sensibilities. The academic’s breath is warm against his ear, has him longing to reach up and feel it fan against his lips before kissing him madly. He’s never felt an ache, a need, for somebody quite like this. “…or have your perverted fantasies petered out…?”

“Uniform,” Vulcano grunts in response, tone compact. Hands quiver with the need to touch.

The word appears to amuse Joe, a soft little chuckle in his ear. “What, like a fireman?”

Sal cringes. “…maybe not that one. Luminescence ain’t sexy. I was thinking more… officer.”

“To keep the bad-boy out of trouble?”

The breath Vulcano releases comes out in the form of a quiet groan. He feels as if he’s running into overdrive, thoughts and feelings about this fucking guy taking over until he’s left hot under the collar. Breathing comes more shallow, a hand daring to settle on the boy’s shoulder once more.

“School uniform too. The blazer and tie kind - like a good little schoolboy. Fuck…”

Joe lets loose a sly chuckle, purposefully lets his lips brush against Sal’s ear. “Now you’re just trying to insult me.”

Moments pass, Sal daring to tilt his head and whisper: “…I wanna fuck you so bad.”

Joe doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shunt him away, and so he lets his palm flatten, leaning back to inspect his face. Noses touch, breath mingles and Vulcano is so sure that things are finally about to go his way– before the other leans back and away from him.

“Geez… get your head out of the gutter, idiot. We have an exam in three days. If you’re going to be here, you’re going to focus,” Joe states simply, and it’s as if the whole ordeal had never happened. Sal struggles to look straight at him, feeling those eyes burn holes into his soul. How he longs to have those eyes staring up at him, glistening and bright with desire, pleasure.

“…y-you fuckin’ tease,” hisses Sal, staggering on hands and feet to get into a more upright position, eyes narrow slits. Oh, Gatto may have worked him up this time, that son-of-a-bitch, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t come out on top next time - and there WILL be a next time. “Not cool, Joe.”

“Neither are you - you manage just fine. You dealt these cards, Salvatore, now play with them,” Joe retorts coolly, standing up and loosening the apron from around his waist, tugging it over his neck, before bending to collect the bowls they’d both eaten from. He leaves him then, heads back to the ‘kitchen’ in order to begin washing and putting things away from dinner.

Sal seethes silently. Fuck this guy - but also, _fuck, this guy_.


	2. Apron

It had been a tiring day for the troublemaker. For once, he’d had to attend class with the risk of expulsion riding finely on his belt, forced to take down a bunch of boring notes in order to appease his professor. He’d been unimpressed by the lecture to say the least, coming out of the hall feeling like a ball of vomit due to how much had been regurgitated. Still, it has saved his ass in the end.

Therefore when he comes back to his dorm - yes, his own for a change - and smells the scent of familiar noodles being cooked, the corners of his lips begin to twitch upwards. Had Joe come over unannounced and made him food? Perhaps he had hoped to make it and then sneak out, as if he’d never been there to take care of him. Either way, Sal would have known - only his boyfriend can make noodles taste like a five star course.

“Hey, baby boy,” he calls, hearing the familiar ‘don’t call me that’ from his kitchen area. As he finishes pulling his shoes off and hanging his bag up, he progresses to the space, only to stop dead half way there. He’s brought the apron round… and seems to have forgotten the rest of his attire. This can’t be real… he’s still in the lecture hall, bored as hell and daydreaming… but as he blinks several time, the delectable curve of the other boy’s rear poking prominently outwards against the neatly tied fabric around his waist, the image doesn’t distort. Breath caught in his throat, the young man proceeds hesitantly. “…Joey?”

Unfazed, all but scarily so - as if somebody had stripped him of his clothing without his knowledge. “Hm?”

“What… What’re you doing?”

A blunt look is tossed over his shoulder. Sal swears he sees a hint of smugness in his eyes. “Don’t irritate me, Salvatore. I’m cooking for you.”

Avoiding the main focal point seems to be Joe’s way of operating right now - and hell, as long as he’s allowed to enjoy the view, who is he to complain. He can barely keep himself still, staring at the more than attractive shape of the other’s ass. Mouth twitches, waters… he’s never felt desire quite like this, not since getting with this one.

Somewhere along the way, Sal’s resolve snaps. “Are you fuckin’ with me right now?”

A silence overcomes the dorm room. Even the simmer of the food seems to quieten, leaving the pair in a relative quiet that makes Vulcano’s palms sweat. Steam rises, swathes the air with its uncompromising heat, but he feels a flame being ignited in him that is much hotter than anything an oven could produce. His body… and not just his behind. His bare calves, his naked arms (wrists delicately wrapped in bandage from when he’d last ‘treated’ one of his episodes), the inoffensive way he stands at the stove and cooks, it all has him weak in the knees with want. Why he feels it so intensely, he is unsure, but does it really matter?

The smirk that Joe gives him from over his shoulder turns his blood to fire. “Not yet.”

It all happens so fast. Sal has closed the gap between them at a rate seemingly quicker than light, carelessly thrown the stove’s hob in the opposite direction before he’s slammed the other against the far counter, listening to the dull groan he receives because of it. A smooth chuckle follows it soon after.

“You don’t like my apron any more, is that it?”

Sal growls. “No, I do. I REALLY fuckin’ do.”

He leans close, latches teeth onto his boyfriend’s ear-lobe and tugs, delighted by the soft sound of pleasure that is made. Head is tilted back until it rests against his shoulder, Vulcano’s turning so that he can leave open-mouthed kisses along the expanse of his neck. Gatto keens, rears backwards so that his bare ass can rub against denim. Sal undoes the ties at the back of him, leaves the garment strung over his neck before pulling him away from the counter and leading him to the main area of the room, walking him to the couch. Hands raise, connect with shoulders, sending the other young man sprawling backwards and onto it. For just a moment, wide-eyed innocence is all Vulcano sees staring up at him, the blue all but angelic in his wake, but it is soon overwritten by the lazy scrawl of a smirk that crosses Gatto’s face, ankles crossing. The apron has ridden up his thighs, bunching around his hips.

Sal wastes no time undressing himself, clothes thrown off in but a second before he’s hovering over the other boy. Lips meet in a fiery kiss, tongue pillaging his mouth for the taste in which he craves. Joe moans purposefully into his mouth, arches ‘clothed’ hips to grind against him. Sal lets out a hiss of a groan.

“You look so good, Joey,” he praises, dipping his hand beneath fabric and bunching it around his stomach, a hand wrapping around his length and provoking hardness. All the while, he leans over him, whispers dirty promises in his ear as he thumbs over his tip, smearing pre-cum down the satisfying girth in his hand. “Mmm… I don’t know how you look so good but you do, fuck…”

“Hah… If you used your mouth for sucking dick as much as you did for talking, you’d be a real pro,” Joe replies with haste, though burning cheeks reveal that he is beginning to feel the shame that comes hand in hand with conforming to somebody else’s desires. If Joe had been asked but a few months ago to perform something like this, his immediate response would have been ‘no’ - or even less eloquently, ‘fuck off’ - but as it stands now? He couldn’t be happier to fulfil one of Sal’s fantasies he’d learned about way back when. He’d known the day was going to be hard on him, and though through fault of his own, Joe couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

“I think somebody just wants his cock sucked,” Sal replies humourlessly, though a smirk remains on his face as he dips low and instantly sheaths the entirety of his length with his warm mouth. A mass of saliva is produced at the sudden intrusion, and just as well for Joe bucks at the sensation of wet lips dragging along his sensitive flesh. The sense of pride it gives Vulcano is immeasurable. “Yeah…?” he asks quietly as he pulls off of him for air, panting heatedly against the head of his member. Tongue flicks out, drags along the slit before circling his tip in an almost playful manner. “You like havin’ your cock sucked? Mm?”

“A–Ah, yeah…”

It’s all the reply he needs, a hand coming to slide beneath the fabric of his apron and play with his nipples. His arm has to reach somewhat awkwardly, at full length as he touches his boyfriend with practised precision, but it’s more than worth it for the sounds that he earns, especially as he feels the heels of the other’s feet coming into contact with his shoulders in an attempt to urge him closer. His head continues to bob along the firm shaft until he eventually releases it, a thin string of saliva keeping him connected before he pulls his head back and stares down at the other boy.

“Saaal,” the young man whines, staring up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “I’m so close, don’t leave me.”

“Sorry, babe.” Vulcano beams wickedly, easing him up into a sitting position. Moving him aside, he lays back against the couch, wrapping a hand around his own length and stroking himself, excitement only growing at the sight in front of him. Joe bends down to return the favour - but he is stopped by a hand touching the top of his head. “Mm, no. As much as I love seein’ your smart mouth full of cock, that’s not what I want.”

The other boy looks up, looking more curious than he intends to, before things click into place. He isn’t sure what makes sense first, being beckoned atop him or the steadily growing smirk that stretches across his face, but Joe just knows what he wants. As such, he bunches the apron around his waist to avoid tripping as he adjusts his knees on either side of his boyfriend’s hips, sitting atop his stiff shaft.

“That’s a good boy,” Sal purrs, reaching hands out and guiding Joe’s body along.

“D–Don’t you go patronising me, idiot.” 

The friction granted by the boy merely rolling his hips atop him has his pleasure sky-rocketing; he can only picture what it’s going to be like filling him. “Let that go… yeah, God…”

As Gatto releases the fabric of the apron, letting it bunch around his rocking hips, Vulcano lets out a sound he’s never heard before, something caught between a purr and a whine. He desperately wants to hear that sound again.

Suddenly, green and blue meet in a silent understanding. Lifting himself with the use of his knees, Joe grasps at Sal’s length and slowly begins to lower himself onto it. The process is hesitant, something he’s unfamiliar with despite having had sex with the other before; the new angle, it provides him with an amount of trepidation that makes him feel virginal. Eventually, when he fully sheaths his boyfriend, Sal reaches hands to hold his waist, telling him he’s done a good job.

“Now just… raise your… oh, yeah, that’s– that’s it,” Vulcano groans, pleased with the rate at which Joe catches on. It’s a slow bob at first, as if he can’t quite decide whether to sit down or not, but as he adjusts, as he becomes more familiar with the direction of his thrusts, he slowly begins to get more confident. Sal’s hips meet his at the same speed, gaining traction only when his partner does. He’s never had that much respect for another partner in his life - thinks he never will. “Oh, that’s so good, baby boy…”

The scowl that appears on his boyfriend’s face is adorable to him. The furrow of his brow, the defiant puff of his cheeks, the particularly hard slam downwards of his hips, it’s all so charmingly sweet that Sal longs to see it again. Gradually, he begins to slow himself down, letting Joe do more and more of the work. He’ll forgive him - there’ve been many encounters in which Gatto had done nothing but enjoy, upon his insistence of course.

Eyes are tempted to close at the satisfying fullness that warms his shaft, has it throbbing with the need to release as time goes on, but he doesn’t want to miss a second of watching the young man in the apron working himself to orgasm. Oh no, Joseph Gatto has the most beautiful insanity written on his face when he finally unloads.

“Look at me,” Sal orders, hips now completely still as Gatto maintains his speed atop him. From this height, it is very easy to see the strain of his cock against the material of the apron, the flush of his skin, the focus in his eyes as they lock on his own. It’s a very sexy sight, has him pushed closer to his limit before he has even said anything. “Fuck yourself for me.”

The words seem to send the misanthrope into overdrive. Bouncing becomes more frequent, harder as he goes, a fine sheen of sweat coating his forehead as he works towards his end. All the while, Vulcano prompts him, watches as he throws his head back and moans freely. He seems to forget his own warning in times of immense pleasure: be quiet, Salvatore. The walls are thin. Don’t embarrass me.

“Yeah, fuck, baby… mmm, you like my cock, huh?”

Joe nods, whimpering tirelessly as he pushes himself further.

“Yeah… I know you do, sweetheart. Good God, I’m so close… want me to cum inside you?”

“M–Mhmm…”

“Just a little more work, Joey - ride me good.”

The young man continues to fill himself over and over, slowly losing himself to insanity. His voice reaches an all time high in terms of volume - the loudest he’s ever been throughout the time they’ve spent together, and it makes Sal’s shaft swell with impossible hardness. Eventually, he can take it no more, releasing powerfully inside of the other. Head tips back against the arm of the couch as he feels his boyfriend still going. His orgasm drips from his entrance, makes a mess of his shaft, before Joe looks pitifully down at him; he may be on top, but there’s no way he’s in control.

“P-Please, Sal– I need you to stroke my cock, please… I’m almost there…” the academic begs, head rolling back when he feels Sal’s compliant fingers wrap around his throbbing member. “A–Ah, yes! YES! I-I’m–” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, positively exploding beneath Sal’s skillful ministrations. Cum spatters against his chest and the base of his neck, surprisingly far up. The warbling cries that accompany it, so unfamiliar and yet so wonderful, have Sal grinning the entire time, watching as Gatto tires himself out, remaining upright merely because he’s still surrounding the other boy’s slowly-softening length. “Mmm… oh my God…”

Oceanic eyes open to gaze at the young man beneath him, watching him chew his lower lip in an oddly coquettish manner. Smiling tiredly, Joe inquires: “Did I do good…?”

“Baby,” Sal replies, hands moving to cup the curve of his hips. “You rode me like I ride the Harley. Good job.”

Gatto doesn’t mean to get so excited by the praise - but he grins, and for once his face is a direct picture of how he feels: happy, satisfied and sated. Slowly, he works himself off of his boyfriend, flattens against his body and enjoys the petting of his hair. Fingers bury in his thick, black curls, stroking at his scalp. He feels like a cat in that moment, purring as its owner rakes fingers lovingly through its fur. Joe certainly feels loved.

“So,” he speaks up tiredly, voice laced with the desire to sleep. “I’m guessing the apron is a keeper.”

Sal laughs, more boisterously than he feels. “You bet your ass it is.”


End file.
